Blue Eyes
by machi-tan
Summary: He knew everything that could and would happen in a situation. But not even he could have seen it coming, yet it was the most likely. John Watson would do anything to make sure Sherlock Holmes didn't suffer. That included hurting Sherlock himself.
1. Chapter 1

**So Here is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction**

**no beta and I love Watson and Holmes**

**I own nothing I know sad day**

**enjoy and review**

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Watson always told him to bring his revolver, and yet he never listened. Why? If he'd listened to Watson then they wouldn't be in this situation. They wouldn't be on their knees, arms tied behind their back, with a gun at both their heads and a second gun man standing by them. Yet Holmes never listened to his friend's advice. Why?

Holmes looked at Watson; he was only a few feet away, yet he was so far. He tried to think of a way to escape. If he moved or attacked the man behind him they would shoot Watson without a second thought. If both of them ducked or tried to get away both of them would be killed. Lestrade wouldn't come in at the last second to save them, the inspector didn't eve know that Holmes and Watson were on this case. Why didn't Holmes allow Watson to tell the Scotland Yard? There was no way out.

Every possibility resulted in them being killed. The great Sherlock Holmes had been defeated, and now they were going to die. Holmes never imagined it would happen like this. Today they were die. The question now was who would be killed first? Would they kill Holmes just to get it out of the way, or would they kill Watson in hopes of making him suffer?

"Now, which of these buggahs do we kill first?" The man in the middle asked. He eyed the two men. Different ideas played in each of the men's' head, each one worse than the one before.

The silence seemed to linger for an eternity. "I say we make the detective suff'r." One of the men spoke, Holmes didn't see which one, but it didn't matter. Murmurs were heard as each of the men agreed.

Sherlock heard them agreeing to make him watch them kill Watson, his Watson. "Prepare to die, doctor." The ring leader said. No, dear God, no! Even Holmes knew he would rather die than see that, being useless as his friend, his only friend, was killed before his very eyes because of him.

"That's a bad idea." One of the men opposed- no wait not any man, Watson. "It's better to kill Holmes first." All of the men looked at him bombarding him with questions about why that was and how stupid he was. Watson looked up to the designer of this torture and said with a strait and serious mask. "Scotland Yard will be here any minute, I called along them without Holmes's knowledge or permission." Holmes knew that was a complete lie, yet Watson looked so serious that Holmes found himself doubting his thoughts.

"No you ain't!" Called one of the men, the one behind Holmes.

Watson fixed his cold gaze on him. "Of course I did. You claimed to have read about us, so you have some knowledge about how I act. Holmes knew this case would be life threatening and he encouraged me to stay back. I wouldn't allow that so I sent a secret wire to Scotland Yard alerting them of our intentions and knowledge of this case. Lestrade told me he would send someone to watch after us." Watson's story was convincing and he would have believed it himself if it weren't for the fact that after Holmes had told him about the case they immediately left, no time to talk to anyone and Holmes was next to him every second. "It would be better for all of us if you killed Holmes first."

The man in the middle glared at him, yet his was gentile hearted compared to Watson's. Holmes knew why his companion was doing this, save Holmes from the torture. The younger man wanted to protest but his tongue felt heavy as led in his mouth. He couldn't seem to utter a word. The killers on the other hand continued to speak; "Now why'd we go 'head and listen to ya?" One sneered.

Watson's blue eyes were as cold as the ice their color matched. "Because it would work out best for the both of us. By the time Scotland Yard shows up Sherlock Holmes will be dead and no matter if they showed up before or after you kill me all of you will be known as the men who did what no one could. You would have killed Sherlock Holmes and made him suffer more than you realize."

"And how would that work in mak'n him suffah, doc?" The man asked, Sherlock didn't focus on which one all his attention was on Watson.

"Because, Holmes believes in karma, you know what that is? What goes around comes around. So if he were to get off with an easy death while I had to suffer watch him die in his next life he would suffer ten time more." That was a lie, Sherlock believed that after this life there was nothing, no karma, no reincarnation, just death. "Plus it would kill him in the after life to know that he got off easily while he was unknowing to if I lived, died, or suffered." That was true it would kill the detective, he hated being unaware of how his Boswell was fairing, even after his 'death' at Reichenbach the detective made sure he got regular updates on John Watson.

"And what do ya get outta this? Kill'n 'im off first?" That was the question on everyone's mind. John would lie, oh God would he lie. And Holmes knew it would be a good one at that.

"Me? Well you all would be doing me a favor. I am bloody sick of this mad man! Why do you think I've gotten married so many times? To get away from _him_. He and his insane experiments, playing his bloody violin at three in the morning, not taking the slightest interest in my well being! I've always wanted to kill him myself but I care of what people think of me and I would never want to tarnish my reputation. But I figure it would be just as good to see him suffer and die than kill the man myself." The sleuth was right, oh was he right, but he wished he wasn't. Watson's comment was too convincing for comfort. He had a sickening feeling inside him as he heard Watson talk, trying to convince the men that he hated him, wanted him dead, just so he could save him from suffering. Any other person would agree with Watson saying that he was insane for staying with him all these years but he never minded, he never cared what other people thought. John Watson was the most self sacrificing man Sherlock Holmes had ever seen or met...and he hated it. Why couldn't Watson save himself for once? Why did he always have to be looking out for Holmes? Why couldn't Holmes save him the one time he needed to?

The detective wanted to cry to call out and stop Watson, to save him for once, but the shock of all this kept him silent. There was the selfish part of him that didn't care what Watson was saying the part that just didn't want to suffer and wanted to make Watson pay for hurting him and making him feel so guilty. "And besides," Watson continued. "If the Yard would just happen to show up before you killed me then I would at least get to continue living unlike_ that_ arrogant prick."

He thought he knew everything that could and would happen in a situation. Hell, Sherlock would bet anything he could for see the outcome, but here was one situation, the one outcome he would have never expected. Not even he could have seen it coming, yet he kicked himself, it was the most likely. Of course John Watson would do anything to make sure Sherlock Holmes didn't suffer, that included hurting Sherlock himself.

The detective wasn't sure of who said what next, what words were exchanged; he just forced his grey eyes to meet Watson's. Those innocent blue eyes cleared any doubts Sherlock had. Those blue eyes spoke volumes. They showed the silent apologies that Watson wished with everything he had to say aloud. They told him of the guilt John was feeling and they somehow comforted Sherlock even now, when Watson should be concerned about himself. The only thing he was aware of was the gun that was now pointed at him. He murmured a goodbye to Watson, as he watched his friends eyes fill up with tears, as he tried to talk to the captors. But all Holmes heard was silence, deathly, annoying, silence. Silence until shouting.

Oh thank God, not just any shouting Lestrade's shouting. Reassuring sounds that help actually was on the way. Grey met blue both brimming with happiness and joy. They would live Lestrade would get to them and they would live! At least that's what Holmes thought until the gun came back into view, the condemned men's shouting overpowering his hearing like sitting front row at an opera. The gun was waved around angrily then pointed at the two men. God, no, please no! They were so close to escaping, to living. All that was left was for Lestrade to burst in the room and take down the men. And once again he was right Lestrade did arrive just in time but he couldn't take down the men soon enough.

A shot was fired, Holmes was in so much pain, all he could see was Watson, his blue eyes shining and yet they seemed so distant, and the red dye that stained everything, all else just seemed to be blurred in black and white. He could barely hear the other guns being fired the only thing he could truly focus on was Watson shouting at him making sure he was alright. Reassuring him that he would be alright, that _he_ would live. Even now Watson was trying to comfort Holmes. It did no help as Watson's voice was fading and soon he was falling, it seemed so slow, like it wanted Holmes to remember each agonizing second before the harsh crash on the ground. The deathly silence was all the sleuth could hear as everything began spinning and his world faded to black.

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**Right-y Oh so ya heres the story tell me what you think and want to happen and pick some of the provided choices (other comments are inspiring and encouraged):**

**_Live _Die _More _Keep it a oneshot _I dont care**

**ps I would love reviews**

**Thanks**

**mach-tan**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ho-kay so I am X1,000,000 sorry for the long wait I really hope it was worth it and **

**My muse left me for anther muse then got married had 100 babies and lived happily ever after...so I had no sad tragic muse to go on...thats why I updated late and + I feaking hate exams and papers they kill inocent trees and children**

**please enjoy and review**

**I own nothing**

**enjoy and review**

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Sherlock was only slightly aware that someone was shaking him back into consciousness that someone was shouting at him. One word pieced through his hazy mind "...Watson..." Holmes eyes snapped open as he tried to sit up, instantly regretting it as nausea washed over him.

Two hands held on to him as they tried to help steady him. Looking up Holmes notice Lestrade kneeling by him. "Sherlock are you alright?" The only response he got was the detective's slow nod as he pressed his hand to his spinning forehead...wait his wrist weren't bound together. "We untied you two-"

"Where's Watson?" His voice was cold, demanding, and frightened. Lestrade stuttered that hesitation turned the wheels in Sherlock's head to expect the worst. Sherlock peered around the detective to see Watson panting while unconscious, not good. Before Sherlock could process what was happening he was next to Watson grasping his hand. "Come now, old boy, no time to sleep. Wake up."

"Doctors are on their way." Lestrade mentioned behind him. As if that was suppose to comfort him. They, much like Scotland Yard, take ages to get where they were needed.

"What happened?" His voice was quiet, Lestrade struggled to hear it, and when no response came, Sherlock shouted. "Damn it! What happened?"

"W-we heard Dr. Watson and the men talking; their voices led us to where you were. When we came in we believed we came in time, but one of the men cursed and shouted before shooting a single bullet at the doctor. We heard him straining to talk to you before he passed out. Not much later the shock, I guess, was too much and you followed him. Gregson then left to get a doctor while I tried to wake you, and-"

"That's enough." Lestrade was instantly silenced, it's what he needed. Lestrade to be quiet, everyone to be quiet so he could think, yet he hated the silence he desired, because all he could hear now was Watson's labored uneven breathes; each one painful to both Holmes and Watson. The silence didn't help, he needed to think but he couldn't his cursed mind kept examining Watson's damage and telling him multiple facts he would rather not know at the moment. He needed to think of something, _anything,_ else to distract him from Watson's injury. He subconsciously ran his long fingers over Watson's new bullet wound. Three inches to the right of his Afghanistan scar, he almost died from that one, and this one is too close for comfort. Thankfully what felt like hours later to Holmes's suffering but moments to his scanning mind, two doctors arrived.

They stared at the familiar man on the ground and soon rushed over to his side, attempting to move Holmes out of the way. No! They couldn't He had to stay by Watson! He needed to make sure he was safe! He felt other officers trying to pull him away; he wasn't going down without a fight. He heard Lestrade shout at him. "Holmes it's for the best the doctors need to get to him. You'll only be in the way!" He ignored the ignorant officer; he never knew what he was talking about anyways. Holmes heard Lestrade shouting at one of the doctors to sedate him. He felt the prick of the needle, reminding him of his cocaine days, how he missed that lovely substance that would allow him to think and concentrate, to relax and work, but this was nothing like cocaine. His body felt like mush and his knees were now too weak to hold his slim form, confusing his mind into a blurred chaos that he couldn't decipher. He felt himself falling much like Watson had, but not into a pained unconsciousness, no he would wake up the question was would Watson?

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Holmes woke up, it was stupid to think he wouldn't, yet he wished he didn't. He knew where he was before opening his eyes; the familiar aura and smell gave it away. His head continued to pound as he recalled what led to his current situation. Watson had claimed to call the police and convinced them to kill Holmes first, the criminals almost succeeded, but Scotland Yard actually came, Watson was shot, Holmes passed out, woke up and was sedated. Watson said he called to police, the police came, Watson said he wanted Holmes dead; he said he couldn't stand 'that mad man'. He sounded so convincing, but no, Watson was his friend. Dr John Watson was his only true friend, he would never...and yet it happened. Holmes struggled with what the actual truth was but with no idea of Watson's condition he couldn't think straight.

Don't get him wrong, Holmes wanted nothing more than to go and check up on Watson to see if he was still...alive, but he wouldn't be able to stand it if what Watson said was actually the truth. There had to be another reason for why Scotland Yard showed up, but no one else knew about the case, Holmes hadn't even told his client where they were headed, the only person he told was Watson. The Yard wouldn't have randomly sent someone to follow them, Mycroft was too lazy, his mind ran through every scenario puncturing holes in every one. Why, why would John say such a thing? He couldn't help but think about it, each and every word kept flying around his head like some annoying bug, yet the more he thought about it the more sense it made. Watson had every right to hate him; most would have gone insane by now, hell the Yard to wages on how soon and why Watson would leave the first time the pair met. The doctor had brought up valid points and good excuses, and Holmes couldn't help but feel guilty.

He couldn't take it any longer, he had never been patient, Holmes sprung from the hospital bed, and just as quickly regretted it as tried to over come his nausea. Taking long strides Holmes flew open the hospital door and began searching for Watson's room. Unfortunately two minutes into his search Lestrade found him. "What do you think you're doing? You need to rest."

The detective ignored him as he continued to search. "Where's Watson?"

"He-he's resting in his own room. Holmes you really need to rest, you passed out from shock, and then went insane; we had to sedate you!" Lestrade cried as he tried to keep up with the sleuth. "What would the Doctor say about this?"

Holmes stopped in his tracks. His head turned as if to look as Lestrade, yet the inspector couldn't see his face. "That's what I'm about to find out." Was Holmes's only response before rushing to find Watson.

Three frightened nurses, five death threats, six nurse examinations which resulted in crying, and one furious doctor later Holmes was allowed into the room Watson was residing only if he swore not to badger the nurses. Holmes's knew what he should expect bruises, old bullet wounds, and a new one for Watson to add to his collection, a collection that Holmes cringed at, yet what he saw was worse. There lying on the white hospital bed was Doctor John Watson, pale as the sheets, with bags the color of Holmes's own hair. A display of unique bruises ran along his arms and body as Holmes tried not to think about how much more damage was unseen. Quietly walking over Holmes grabbed the sheets of paper that hung off Watson's bed. His grey eyes read through the diagnosis, hating every word. Bruises, blood loss, cracked ribs, exhaustion, more useless knowledge about his leg, old medical files and history, and finally the bullet wound.

Holmes reread the file, his mind conjuring up different images of how each wound was caused. Had Watson actually put up with that much pain? How much longer could Watson last? Watson knew that Holmes's lifestyle wasn't for anyone, he had always been able to keep up with Holmes, but Watson wasn't some object that could be replaced when it broke. No, Watson was the only man who could actually stand him, who Homes could rely on without a doubt, or so he thought. This whole event had thrown Holmes into a tailspin, never had he been more confused than he was now. Was Watson just using their relationship to gain publicity, or did he actually care? How long had he felt this way and did he actually want Holmes to die? These thought reminded Sherlock, _this is exactly why you shouldn't let yourself get attached to anyone, no one really cares for you and you can't stand heartbreak. Just walk away now before you get hurt any further. _

No, Watson cared for him; he knew it, what he told those men was just a lie to protect Sherlock. _Just keep telling yourself that_, his mind countered. Watson was an injured war doctor and current biographer for Sherlock Holmes, his flaws were few and far, and he was the kindest person Sherlock had ever met. Yet some things are too good to be true. No one can be _that_ empathetic or generous, no one could actually want to be around Holmes without demanding something in return, and no one could possibly desire to become his friend and not snap at him. No one. Watson is too good to be true and that's what made this all the more believable.

Staring at Watson's bed Sherlock decided to listen to his brain and leave now before he gets hurt. Turning on his heal the detective began to head for the door, yet a weak voice made him stop in his tracks. "Holmes," The sleuth, for once, had no clue of what he should do in this situation. Every part of him wanted to stride to Watson's side and make sure he wasn't in any pain, yet his mind instructed him to ignore the man, there was no way Watson could stop him from leaving, and his mind had never failed him before. The voice stopped him again as he began to open the door. "Holmes are you alright?" Why was Watson asking if he was alright? He wasn't the one who was shot. "Holmes, please what's the matter?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and he put on his emotionless mask as he shut the door and turned to his Boswell. "Nothing is wrong." He stated, he wouldn't look into those eyes.

"Please don't lie to me." Watson begged, blue eyes stared at him with concern and pain, whether it is physical or emotion. "You won't look me in the eye." Well how could he? Last time he saw those ocean orbs Watson was dying because of him. Last time Watson was convincing people to kill him. The eyes that had brought him so much reassurance now presented confusion.

"I don't have to." Holmes coldly answered.

Watson seemed thrown off by Holmes's icy attitude, "H-have I done something to upset you?" Of course Watson automatically blames himself. What could Holmes say,_ yes, you made me believe that someone actually cared for me. You made me believe that I had an ally that would watch over me and continually be by my side even in the toughest of times, only because he was my friend. Yes, you shattered the one thing I could actually count on?_ No, even though he wanted to shout at Watson for making Holmes seem a fool, he couldn't because unfortunately Holmes still cared for him, which made him even more mad at Watson.

"Holmes, please tell me what I have done to upset you." Watson's concerned voice broke his concentration. "I'm sorry for whatever it is. Please just tell-"

"Is it true?" Holmes deep voice rang through the room filling it with silence. His silver eyes were locked on Watson analyzing every aspect of the injured man, every movement.

"Is what-"

"What you told the criminals back there." Holmes quickly and sharply informed.

Watson stared at him for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. The dark haired man cringed, Watson was ridiculing him for his stupidity because it took him until now to realize their friendship was meaningless. Everything he had come to know was a complete li- "You actually believed that?" What? Watson continued with another round of laughter. "I surely didn't believe my acting skills were grand enough to fool the great Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes stared confused and impatiently at the doctor. "Please explain what is so funny." Holmes demanded angrily.

Watson ceased laughing and gave him a serious look. "I cannot honestly understand that you believed what I told a group of condemned men." Watson looked down at his hands which now seemed so interesting. "I knew that they would have won if you saw me die. I assumed you would have felt the same way I would have and I didn't want you to feel that pain, so I did everything I could to convince them to kill you first and save you from the pain of seeing me die, and I know you hate to feel useless..." Holmes could only stare as he felt guilt build inside him. How could he have doubted such a pure hearted man?

"But how did you know I would have felt the same way? What if I was the uncaring one, I have often been described as such." Holmes asked.

Watson looked up and gave him a delicate smile. "I could only think and hope you cherish our friendship as much as I do. And I could see it in your eyes. When they threatened to kill me I saw the brief flash of desperation and fear and I realized I would rather save you from the sorrow than have you face it."

"But Lestrade came!" Holmes shouted. "You claimed to have called him and he came! You said you wanted me dead before Scotland Yard came! What about that?" He all but shouted.

Watson gave a confused look. "I didn't call them. You instructed me not to and I respected your request. I wasn't aware that they were following us or knew of the case until they came to save us." The detective could only stare, who could have called the Yard if he or Watson didn't wire them then who did? Holmes turned and began to leave. "Holmes! Where are you-"

"To see Lestrade, and I forgive you, dear fellow." He explained as he walked out the door, but not without seeing the joy in Watson's blue eyes.

Finding the Inspector wasn't to difficult, he was still at the hospital thankfully, and in the waiting vicinities filling out paper work. "Lestrade," The man jumped at his name.

"Mr. Holmes, were you able to find Dr. Watson?"

Holmes gave a short nod before asking, "Who was it that wired you?" Lestrade seemed lost at what the detective meant. "My God man, who told you of mine and the Doctor's location?"

Lestrade's dark eyes flashed with realization "Oh, your landlady Mrs. Hudson." The sleuth could only stare. "She advised me to send someone to follow you and Dr. Watson and told me the location that she heard you say."

Holmes looked at the floor before meeting Lestrade's eyes. "Well, thank you Lestrade. I need to be heading back to my flat now." Lestrade just nodded and let the detective go.

Holmes wasn't sure how long he had been walking for but when he looked back up he was standing on the porch of 221B Baker Street. The dark haired man opened the door and walked strait into the kitchen when he knew Mrs. Hudson was. The older woman was busing herself over a bowl of dough, she hardly noticed the new person in the room, but when she turned to grab and ingredient she shrieked out of shock. Setting one hand on the counter and the other over her heart she took deep breaths as she exclaimed, "My goodness Mr. Holmes, you scared the daylights out of me!" He didn't respond as he towered over her looking down with an unreadable expression. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Mrs. Hudson huffed as she set both hands on her hips.

Once again he didn't say anything, but what he did next shocked her more. Holmes swept his landlady into a tight embrace. Mrs. Hudson's eyes went wide at his sudden action, yet soon enough she wrapped her arms around him as well uncaring as to why he was doing such a thing. She smiled as she faintly heard him whisper, "Thank you,"

And for once he was thankful of her over bearing nature; he was glad she meddled into their case and called the Yard. Because if it wasn't for her Holmes would have never been able to see the life in Watson's blue eyes, nor would he ever know the depths of their friendship; their small and abnormal family.

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I adore reviews ^^

once again sorry for the late update

**Thanks**

**machi-tan**


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